


The Stories They Tell

by Katharos



Category: Saiunkoku Monogatari
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katharos/pseuds/Katharos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the year Seiran was called Shousenpuu. There is a storm howling down the mountain, a group of Satsujinzuko holed up in an 'appropriated' house, and Ensei's just trying to get through the night without Shousenpuu slaughtering any one - bodies stink after all. Telling the story of Kanshou and Bakuya seems a good enough way. </p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stories They Tell

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Saiunkoku Secret Santa, for Shi Seiran

The storm broke fast and heavy, rolling down over the mountains with screaming winds that seemed to threaten to strip the forests bare and drive all the world before them. The good people of Sa Province locked up their livestock and bolted their doors fast, and prayed that nature's fury would quickly rage itself out.

The Satsujinzuko, or at least the sub-gang of which led by Jiang, broke into some official's summer house, slaughtered the housekeepers, plundered the rooms for valuables, and settled in to wait on the storm.

In the practical side of it, Ensei considered as the bandits settled themselves into the main room of the house, ranging themselves like a court about their leader and his lieutenants, the Satsujinzuko response to the raging storm was the same as that of the ordinary citizens of Sa Province. It was in the murder, raping and thieving that the Satsujinzuko, as always, set themselves apart.

Ensei and Shousenpuu had taken up places next to each other automatically. None of the gang of thugs Jiang ran with an iron fist had taken very kindly to having two golden boys sent to 'help them out' by Meishou. And this was the worst time they could have got trapped in a small room with a bunch of bandits eager to pick a fight, Ensei decided in annoyance, before they could get the pecking order sorted out. There would always be some ready to try them, setting their youthful looking faces above their reputations.

And of course Jiang had just set his sword down in front of him and demanded, voice harsh and controlled, if Little Staff King and Little Whirlwind were accustomed to laziness and riding on the backs of others, if their lack of display during the taking of the house was customary.

Ensei rolled his eyes mentally and prepared himself for fireworks to rival the Emperor's birthday.

Shousenpuu didn't even look up from checking over his sword.

Jiang's face grew, if that were possible, even blacker. "Respect is customarily due your superiors, Shousenpuu," he snarled. "Meishou has given you to me until the end of this month, and you will obey."

At this Shousenpuu did look up; from his place beside him Ensei couldn't see the expression on his face, but by the way those facing them edged back nervously it must have been something special.

Jiang kept control, ruled, by a fear that could maybe look like respect if you squinted. He wouldn't go so far as beating a man to death, but only if that man submitted to him. He was the type who just couldn't give up, just couldn't rest until he had made every single person in his hands fear him, give in and cower. Everyone had to roll over and show their soft throat to him before he'd let up.

Now, Ensei happened to know that Shousenpuu's skin was exquisitely soft; a piece of knowledge he had come by thanks to some of Sa Province's particularly freezing nights. Forget the blood that froze in your veins and rocks that split in the night. The true measure of a force of nature was when it forced Shousenpuu to get over his prickly, over-extended personal space in order to share body heat.

Ensei also happened to know that Shousenpuu possessed exquisitely pointy elbows and exquisitely strong teeth, and the knife that he placed at your throat in the morning, just in case you'd got any ideas above your station during the night, was always exquisitely sharp.

In fact, Ensei was beginning to wonder if Jiang had done anything to particularly annoy Meishou lately, since it was looking like their glorious leader wanted him dead in the messiest possible way.

From the way Shousenpuu was looking, as Jiang continued to harangue him, that was as good as a prophecy.

Some of the weaker members of the gang shifted nervously in their places and eyed the door; caught between the whirlwind outside and the whirlwind inside, and no not quite sure which one they should be more afraid of. Ensei grinned lazily at them, and enjoyed the way they flinched nervously away from him.

Anything that got the scum of Satsujinzuko was something to be applauded, in Ensei's cheerfully biased book. And it wasn't as if he couldn't provoke the same reaction himself, it was just you got a better view when you were the audience.

The slightly awed looks he got, for standing next to Shousenpuu when the other boy's fury reached that specially pitch, like the wind that screamed down into the valley and scoured the forest from the mountain, was something to be smugly enjoyed as well.

Though the idea they were based on, that he was specially favoured or, hell, had any way of _controlling_ Shousenpuu when he got into one of his moods was totally off the mark.

Even Meishou was beginning to buy into that, if the jealous looks Ensei had been seeing directed his way lately was anything to go by. The one standing at Shousenpuu's right hand side was likely to be the first one bleeding out into the cold ground, except Ensei had gotten good at dodging.

Jiang's chief lieutenants were tense on either side of him, their hands on thier swords. And every eye in the place was on Jiang and Shousenpuu, the tense vibrating air between them. "You may be Meishou's pampered pet," Jiang added, his lip curled, and his eyes running over Shousenpuu's body in a way that made it clear exactly what he meant by that. "But don't expect that to get you any easy rides with me."

Shousenpuu's head snapped up, and his eyes were cold. And, yeah, Ensei had absolutely zero problems with letting a bunch of Satsujinzuko get slaughtered in the name of Shousenpuu's fury.

The problem was, the damage that fury dealt wasn't confined just to the deserving. Ensei had seen Shousenpuu lost to it before, and _lost_ was exactly the right word. Whatever was behind his eyes during that time, it was something you could see in the eyes of a wolf, or staring into the eye of a storm. Wasn't whatever part of him hurt and called Ensei names and grudgingly shared body heat on the coldest night.

And, hell, that had somehow become worth more than the lives of a load of Satsujinzuko.

"Not that I don't enjoy a spot of bear baiting as much as the next guy," he drawled into the taunt silence, "but I'd like to suggest that such things go best in the great outdoors, not in a tiny room."

Every eye in the place swung to focus on him; if Ensei had been a nervous sort of guy he might have felt embarrassed. "Unless anyone here wants to have a dead body stinking up the place until morning," he added.

Sniggers and a few good natured jeers greeted this pronouncement; anyone but Ensei would have politely not noticed the twinge of relief that accompanied many of them, at this opportunity for all sides to back down without loss of face.

Not least because, Ensei knew, he had very carefully neglected to mention _whose_ body it would be littering the place, Hey, he didn't want to spend the night on a pile of bodies either!

"Does that offend your delicate sensibilities, Shokonou," someone shouted.

Ensei grinned in the direction of the speaker, hyper conscious of the tense, thrumming coil of murderous intent at his side. "Hey, I'm just a blushing maiden," he returned easily.

"I bet you know all the good girly fairy tales too!"

"Sure," Ensei said easily. "Once upon a time there was a pretty princess who – " Boos and howls of protest drowned him out, and someone threw a sake bottle at his head that he deftly caught and drained before its owner could think to demand it back. He grinned around the bottle's neck, where his audience couldn't see. So far operation 'distract them all good so we don't have to spend the night on top of a pile of bodies' was proceeding as planned.

"Alright, alright!" Ensei held up his hands in surrender, sake bottle hanging loosely from one of them. "You're a picky bunch of bastards aren't you? S'pose you want swords and blood and death and the like."

The crowd shouted encouragement.

Jiang was watching him expressionlessly, arms folded. The look in his eyes couldn't exactly be called pleased, but he made no move to interfere in what Ensei was doing. Ensei wasn't exactly surprised.

Jiang was a hard bastard but you didn't keep a bunch of hardcases like these under control without being a little bit smart as well. And right now being smart meant not creating an atmosphere worth a fight in a small room hemmed in by a storm

And yeah, maybe the next plan Ensei came up with would be helping Shousenpuu dispose of Jiang body, but such things were so much easier when not within the confines of a single room

"This is a thing that happened many years ago, back even before Sougen. So there were still a lot of demons and monsters running around, and fighting was pretty much something that everyone knew. You had to have pretty good swords to kill demons, so there were a lot of swordsmiths around. But there was only one of them who was the best of the best. And he's the one who forged the twin swords – Kanshou and Bakuya."

Ensei felt Shousenpuu suddenly go still next to him and he cursed mentally, keeping an easy grin fixed on his face for the benefit of the thugs surrounding them. Dammit, did this story have some kind of special meaning for the high-strung idiot? Ensei really needed to start keeping a list of all his hang ups. The resulting carnage could be a pain.

But for once Shousenpuu didn't seem inclined to throw a hissy fit; he actually seemed to be listening, which was another wonder. .

One didn't spit on gifts from the immortals, so Ensei carried on.

"The head of the Hyou clan – except they weren't called the Hyou clan yet because the Emperor hadn't got around to redecorating – hears about this swordsmith, whose swords they said could slay a demon with a touch. And because the clan-who-will-become-Hyou had an entitlement complex even then, decided that he had to have one forged for himself."

Ensei heard Shousenpuu snort, very softly, next to him.

Feeling a little as if he was sitting on a cask of gunpowder, Ensei kept on talking. The thugs at least looked like they were appreciating their storytelling, and he made a note to point out to Shousenpuu this obvious failing in his aesthetic sense.

"So he turned up on the mountain where the swordsmith, Kanshou, lived with his wife Bakuya and told him, 'I want you to forge for me the greatest sword that ever has or ever will exist. If you do I will shower you with gold and jewels.' He didn't need to say what would happen to the smith if he didn't."

Ensei considered doing voices for the smith and his wife, but a certain stillness in the body at his side suggested that one person in the room at least was taking the story seriously, and that it would not be wise.

"The swordsmith was at a loss to know how he could forge a sword that would satisfy the Hyou clan, so he and his wife prayed to the Immortals for guidance. At last the Immortals answered them; a star fell from the heavens and crashed into their mountain. When they went to investigate they discovered a cooling mass of star iron.

"The smith was delighted. With this he could forge the greatest sword the world would ever see. But for weeks he attempted to melt the iron, growing more and more desperate. Even in the hottest fire he could create, the iron remained cold and inert and stubborn.

"At last he asked to his wife to examine the iron for him, for was she very wise. The instant she touched the iron she knew that it's nature was unbalanced; it held too much of the male aspect and not enough of the female to ever yield to change.

"'How can this be?' the swordsmith asked in despair. 'I cannot make the sword. Hyou will cast me into torment until I beg for death.'

"His wife heard his words and knew them to be true. And because she loved her husband she at once cast herself into the fire of his forge.

"The swordsmith cried out in protest but it was too late. Instantly the fire surged up and the iron melted. Weeping, the smith picked up his tools and set to work. And instead of the one he had intended, he forged twin swords. When he brought them before the head of the Hyou clan, Hyou was very pleased, and showered him with all the gold and jewels as he had promised.

"But the Smith refused them, saying: 'I will take none of your gold or your jewels. These swords were made at a cost you cannot recompense me for, a cost which only I can repay. I will not let my wife travel alone into your service.' And he picked up the other sword and drove it straight into his own heart. And that is why the swords are called Kanshou and Bakuya to this day."

Ensei sat back in his place and took another drink, pleased with himself. The only tension in the room now was that of an audience listening to a story – the fact that Shousenpuu had snuck out near the end might have something to do with that too, he granted. 

"Pretty good for a kid," one of the thugs sneered, breaking the stillness. 

"Like you could do better," another snorted. "You could put the foxes to sleep with your stories."

Ensei absently stole a drink from the guy next to him and drank it, eyeing the door. Someone was already cracking the two quarelling thugs' heads together. They'd got the storytelling bug now and would carry on till dawn; one big lout with a scar right across his mouth was already telling how Emperor Sougen had killed one hundred demons in a single night. Even Jiang didn't seem inclined to move.

The thugs were happy and entertained. Ensei followed Shousenpuu.

The worst of the storm had faded, the house caught in its eye, and in this sheltered courtyard it was now possible to stand upright without being immediately knocked to the ground. Still, Ensei felt quite sincerely that only a crazy person would willingly step out into the blistering cold, which of course perfectly explained why Shousenpuu had done so. And why Ensei was following him.

In the courtyard Shousenpuu had his sword out and said crazy person was now performing his strange, elegant katas. In the dark. In the cold. In the occasional gusts of drifting sleet.

Ensei stamped his feet to remind them they were alive and wished Shousenpuu could do his wrestling with his soul inside in the warm.

"Come on," Ensei moaned, "they've got a fire going inside. We can slaughter them all tomorrow if you want to, so long as you explain it to Meishou."

Shousenpuu ignored him. Ensei wondered if he should feel hurt, then sighed and resigned himself to a long, cold wait. You didn't survive long in Shousenpuu's company if you didn't have a thick skin.

In the dark, under the moon, Shousenpuu and his sword seemed almost like twin streaks and liquid silver, the sort of sight that should have poetry written about it, had Ensei any talent in that direction. Watching him, Ensei slowly realised that the dance Shousenpuu was performing was only half a kata. Sword thrusts and parrys offered to meet an absence, ever cut pulled with infinite care. There was a space there, waiting for someone to step in.

Ensei huffed, his breath clouding the air, and wondered why he'd ever expected Shousenpuu to be sensible. The sword was now a streak of silver in the dark, under the moon; Ensei watched it carefully, learned the pattern of its dance. And in one timelessness moment he stepped past the sword's curve to Shousenpuu's side, and rested a hand on his shoulder.

Shousenpuu froze, barely breathing. Ensei kept still as well, his attention on those eyes like chips of ice, not on the sword held at trembling stillness just beside his head.

"You might want to slow down. There's still ice on the ground. You're going to slip and break your leg." And then you'll be dead, Ensei didn't add, and didn't need to, because Shousenpuu heard him just the same. The gang wouldn't tolerate a dead weight.

After an eternity he drew in one long, deep breath, and lowered the sword. Ensei started breathing again. Continued breath wasn't a thing to count on, however; Shousenpuu's shoulder was still tense under his hand.

"If," Shousenpuu said so suddenly that Ensei started, "Kanshou and Bakuya were wielded against each other. What would they do?"

What Ensei knew was that it was cold, and there was a blankness in Shousenpuu's eyes that he really didn't like. "Hell if I know," Ensei said awkwardly. "Doubt their spirits would be too happy. Blow up, maybe?"

Shousenpuu snorted and whipped his sword up into a guard position; Ensei winced as it whirred past his nose.

With Shousenpuu to wield it the sword sang as it cut the air, but Ensei could tell he was listening for a sweeter sound. "I took this sword off a dead man, my first week with the Satsujinzuko," Shousenpuu said flatly. "The blade I'd been given snapped when I met his thrust in our 'practice match.' I ducked inside his guard and drove my dagger into his belly. My room stank of offal for days."

"Well it's kept you alive since then," Ensei pointed out, feeling moved to the swords defence.

The look Shousenpuu gave him suggested that he'd missed the obvious point. Ensei shrugged. "Swords like Kanshou and Bakuya are for princes and Emperors and legendary heroes, people who have the time to ride around looking pretty. They're not for guys like us."

"Not for the likes of us," Shousenpuu repeated softly; always a thing to make you worry, when Shousenpuu spoke softly, Ensei considered uneasily. "Of course." Shousenpuu half turned his face away, held his sword up so that the moonlight leant its gleam to the chipped and battered metal. In the same light, his eyes were pale and sharp. "A sword is piece of metal beaten flat and sharpened. Its nature is to kill. What need does it have for a story or a name, for it to fulfil that nature?"

Ensei shrugged awkwardly. "They may not be much use to the weapons, but they help us pass the night away." Greatly daring, he rested his chin upon Shousenpuu's shoulder, and for a wonder Shousenpuu did not immediately whirl about and separate Ensei's very fine head from his shoulders with that sword of his. That sword that wasn't Kanshou or Bakuya, but was still perfectly capable of getting the job done.

Ensei huffed out a soft breath, making a small cloud in the cold air and stirring the fine silver hair by his nose. Shousenpuu was not relaxed, and Ensei didn't quite dare to put an arm about him, but he wasn't protesting or moving away, and his body was warm against Ensei's, and high above them the sky was beginning to clear.

Their names weren't going to be remembered. There weren't going to be any stories told about them, unless those stories were nasty and brutish and short. But they were still capable of getting the job done, no matter what job they decided that would be. And they were still capable of sharing warmth during a long, cold night.


End file.
